


Breathing in the Afterlife

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara in the afterlife. Written for Round One, Challenge One of Last Author Standing: Jossverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing in the Afterlife

Golden sunlight drenched the house and the smell of fresh brewed tea filled the air. She drew off a cup from the still steaming kettle and took it to her rocking chair on the porch. Her mother was already settled in, a stack of magazines fluttering in the early morning breeze.

“Going to work this morning?” Her mother asked after Tara brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“In a bit.”

They sat together, chairs rocking until the sun crested broad and fat over the hill. Sighing, Tara finished the last of her tea and set down the mug.

“I’ll be back in time for dinner.” She rose. “Do you need anything in town?”

“I’ll go myself, love.” Her mother smiled. “I could use the activity.”

Tara started her walk into town, stopping by the road to pick a flower and threading it into her hair. She dug her bare toes into the grass, delighting in the cool dew. Several of her neighbors were also on the road. As one, they moved to the arrival boards.

Everyone checked the arrival boards, even those who were long past the point of expecting anyone. It was a comforting habit, connecting them, tenuously, with the living. The clacking of rotating wooden slates filled the morning air.

Tara scanned the board, torn as always. Every morning she thought about how lovely it would be to see her name. Another familiar face, another friend to embrace was always a welcome idea. Yet, she knew it would also be a sad thing. Most of the people she knew were still young.

“Tara!” Melinda appeared at her elbow. “You’ve got an arrival today!”

She pointed one paint stained finger upwards until Tara caught her name on one of the highest boards.

“Oh.” Tara pushed a hand to her chest. Somewhere, the memory of her heart fluttered. “It’s the noon train.”

“Who do you think it’ll be?” Melinda took her arm and led her away to the square.

“I don’t know.” She tried to catch her breath. “Someone older, I hope.”

“Oh maybe that Mr. Giles you told me about?”

They walked through the busy town square. Already the thick smell of exotic foods spilled through the air, mixing with the rough texture of lye and dyes.

“Maybe.” Doing some mental arithmetic, she shook her head. “He wouldn’t even be seventy yet.”

“Dana will be seventy this year.” Melinda sighed, opening the door to the Weaver’s Hall. “Sometimes I wish she would hurry up and die.”

“Zounds!” Scolded a young woman from behind the reception desk. “You shouldn't say things like that.”

“Don’t be such a ninny.” Wrapping up her hair in a gauzy scarf, Melinda rolled her eyes. “Tara’s got an arrival today.”

Tara left them to bicker. Her loom was dense with reds and oranges. Searching through the mound of beautifully colored threads, she finally located the dark pink she had picked months ago.

The weave was meant to capture the sunrise that she shared with her mother. It was her first done as a journeyman. It had taken many years of apprenticing to get to this point and she saw no point in rushing now that she had. She worked carefully and precisely on the loom that she had built for herself. It took great concentration, pushing all thoughts of arrival from her mind.

Twenty minutes before twelve, she laid aside her work and headed towards the door. Melinda offered to go with her, but Tara only shook her head. Her excitement suddenly overwhelmed her and she found herself nearly running when she neared the station.

Reaching the platform, she could no longer deny the thought that had been fighting for her attention all morning. _Willow_ she thought. _What if it’s Willow?_

The bell tower in town sang out twelve and the waiting crowd held their breath. A loud rumble shook the platform and everyone started to cheer. Some people were already crying. A young man in a white apron moved among them passing out pamphlets about housing and entrance counseling.

A huge black steam engine plowed down the track, it’s brakes screeching. Tara’s hands started to sweat. The great machine pulled to a shuddering stop and the doors opened. Slowly, passengers began to make their way off. They were all disoriented, blinking and clutching at their bags. Fruitlessly she searched for burnished red hair. All around her were the sounds and sights of reunion.

“Bloody hell.” A familiar voice pierced through the crowd. Tara whipped around.

Clinging to a small duffel bag, a slim man was fighting his way through the press of bodies. His hair was dark and loose to his shoulders, but she would have recognized him anywhere.

“Spike!” She pushed past a reuniting couple, ignoring their complaints.

“Tara?” His eyes were saucer round. With exuberance, she drew him into a tight hug. “Welcome to the afterlife, Spike.”

“Heaven? Hell?” He looked around him, anxiety tensing his muscles as he pulled away from her touch.

“Neither really. Come on, you can stay at my house.” She started to walk, but feeling his absence, turned. He was lingering on the edge of the platform, looking up at the sun.

“Will it burn?” He asked, looking for all the world like a lost child.

“Come find out.” She held out her hand to him. Slowly, his fingers tangled with hers and he took a single step into the light.

The afternoon sun graced his face and he turned it upward. Lines eased from around his eyes and his hand grew warm in hers. All around them were the sounds of reunion, but Tara paid them no mind. Somewhere else, Willow was doing good work, drawing breath, perhaps even loving someone. Here, Tara drew on his joy and found it good.

“Let’s walk.” She tugged gently at his hand. “I live just up the hill here.”


End file.
